The Virtue of Patience
by frazthealien
Summary: Eric takes some time to warm to his new sister, and feels betrayed that Godric made her at all. Pre-series, Eric/Nora and Eric/Godric.
1. Chapter 1

**The Virtue of Patience**

Word Count: ~10,000 overall  
Spoilers: 5.01 only  
Rating/Warnings: R for language, not-so-graphic sex, moderate violence  
Disclaimer: Still not mine

-o-

_If only thou wert as a brother to me,_  
_that nursed at my mother's breasts!_  
_When I should find thee outside,_  
_I would kiss thee,_  
_and no one should despise me. […]_  
_Place me as a seal over thy heart,_  
_as a seal on thy arm;_  
_for love is as strong as death,_  
_its jealousy unyielding as the grave._

(Song of Solomon)

**Chapter 1**

_Piedmont, 1446_

Godric thinks I'm simply jealous for attention. Very well – but he should know by now I've always been a brat. He thinks I resent him for lying about her. Indeed it was cowardly to go behind my back. It's more than that, though. This girl is dangerous.

"Eric, come," he says, in that mild lilt of his, as he loiters in the doorway. "Feed with us. I've assured that the woman is insensible."

"I told you," I reply, calmly ordering my receipts in order to look occupied. "I had my fill earlier."

"Surely you…"

"I'm sated." There is the edge of a growl in my voice. I am happy here, holed up in my study with my records and my thoughts. I will find a way to get rid of the girl. It will come to me.

His eyes seem to grow sad, but he nods his head. He hesitates. "Eric, you know that I'm sor-"

"And I said you need not be." I glance up out of cursed curiosity.

He purses his lips as if to hold back an ill-judged reply. "As you will," I hear him murmur as he leaves.

I prefer to feed alone in any case. What use is it to glamour them to within an inch of sanity? Godric thinks he's saving them from earthly suffering, but if his Heaven exists he will only be filling it with bumbling halfwits who have forgotten their own names.

Nowadays he often incapacitates his humans. It will make it easier for the girl, of course (it is hard to kill the first few times – or rather, it is hard to have just killed). But I suspect it's more he doesn't want to see that look on their faces, as they scream and struggle so as not to let him 'save' them. He used to love the fervour with which I pursued my prey, the simple joy that it brought me to feed. These days it almost repels him.

Later that morning, when I retire to the basement, Godric comes to me without the girl in tow. He remarks without emotion that she wished to be left alone.

We sleep on the floor, as is our way, huddled in soft blankets. I shouldn't have refused the meal earlier; the weakness I feel is obstructing my rest.

Godric must sense my distress, and forgive my stubbornness. He rolls over towards me, offering his neck without a word and I bite instinctively. His blood is a hundred times more satisfying than that of some poor skittish human stumbling through the forest. But he pulls away after mere seconds.

"Godric," I mewl, my throat still thick with the taste. My body is thrumming with hunger, with lust, but the flickering troubles and doubts of a thousand years seem to paralyse me. The sense of him is too much sometimes.

"Next time, do not go hungry out of obstinance," is all he says before shifting away and tugging several blankets over his small frame. I still want to grab him, to taste him, to wrestle and fuck…

Outside, the birds are breaking into song. I lie awake in the darkness and clench my fists until it hurts. Reality claws its way back into place.

If he wants to be pissed off, he should show it. His restraint does no one any favours, least of all me. He is a sad little creature now and then.

I shouldn't pity him. Perhaps it is a habit from isolation that he is so locked up inside himself. A hundred lifetimes with no companion – no wonder he turned me in the end. I am not enough though. I have never indulged his wishful thinking. What need that girl fulfils, I do not doubt. It doesn't make me like her any more; from the moment I laid eyes on her, she riled me.

"You have quite the fetish for noble blood," I had remarked, staring down at the girl's filthy appearance – her hair, once neatly curled and coiffed, was now dirty and matted, and the fine fabric of her skirts clotted with mud. But clearly she was a vain one, and her husband wasn't short of a penny.

Godric was crouched over her, removing her jewels, and reached back to hand them to me. "Pocket these. I have already taken care of the silver items."

He laid his hands upon the bodice of her dress and started gently to rip it in two. He didn't turn to see my half-amused smile; probably he didn't need to, for he knows my emotions before I do. He stripped away all the silk and elaborate brocade until her feeble body was covered only by a petticoat of dull cream.

"There is no need for us to be conspicuous," he explained, at last meeting my gaze. "Eleonora will be missed. She is well-known hereabouts, and they adore her-"

"I didn't question you," I interrupted. It was not his undressing her that had taken me aback. I was already numb. "And with her league of dowry I would have adored her too… where did you find her?"

"Her husband's estate is near Turin."

I frowned, because Turin was more than fifty miles away, through difficult terrain. We were not far from the house we have been making use of for the past year. The legacy of a local plague, these shells of fine mansions are scattered about, abandoned as the rich fled further afield. Ours had a pleasant view of the ghost-village in the valley; now and then the old church still chimes its rusting bells.

I had been in the basement, shaking myself from sleep as I felt Godric rising from the Earth. I sensed something new in his bearing, which at such an age is cause for alarm.

I suspected he would rather I was absent. He whipped out a handkerchief and gently wiped the dirt from her face; his hand lingered on her cheek with blatant hopefulness.

I did not speak, because I had no sarcasm left in me.

Eventually, the girl appeared to flinch. Her eyes flew open and she gulped fruitlessly as if in pain. Perhaps the yawning wound on her abdomen had not fully healed. "I… I can't breathe…"

"Hush now, my child," Godric told her, stroking her hair with the softest of touches, even as I recoiled. "You have no need to breathe, not any more."

-o-

"Look, I can tell. You don't like me."

I don't bother to look up. She is probably posing and thrusting her chest out in the manner of every two-piece whore. Really I shouldn't have left the study door open, but it is a habit from being alone with Godric. I continue to write. "You understate, little girl."

"That's understandable. You're afraid I'm going to manipulate your Maker-"

"Oh, quite the opposite." My eyes flick up and then back to my letter. She has found herself a new gown, cheaper than what she's used to no doubt, stolen perhaps from a wandering yeoman's wife. Not that it has humbled her.

There's a pause before she replies. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

I sigh in exasperation, resting my pen on the inkstand. No manners these days, but what should one expect from such a cosseted princess. "Really, you think he would recruit a con artist without being on his guard?"

That throws her. Clearly she is well-practised in deception. As she tenses, only the barest signs are visible.

"A con artist?"

"That's what you are. Though you don't have the shame to admit it. But the idea of one like you fooling him… is laughable. No, it's something far more alarming."

"Well then?"

I fix her with a stare designed to intimidate. "I suspect you just might be on his side."

She laughs, somewhat too suddenly. "How threatening!"

"You don't even know," I growl.

"Know what?"

I cannot possibly explain. Any patience I had for this bitch has been ripped away by her goading.

"I suggest you leave me in peace," I tell her, enunciating every word, my voice low and steady even as my fangs are showing, "else you might discover just how much I… disagree with your presence in our home."

Her coy smile is still plastered on as she leaves. She takes me for a joke. If she were not Godric's child, I would have ripped out her throat in a second.

-o-

"I can't help you," she had told him. She seemed small and pathetic without her finery. She had just finished bathing, and had replaced her petticoat for want of other clothing. Her damp hair hung limply about her girlish face. "I'm not who you think."

"You have seen something very special," replied Godric. "I do not ask for your help, merely your understanding."

"What I saw… what I…" She ducked her head in feigned modesty. She was hesitating on purpose, I could tell.

"An angel. They said you saw an angel." His tone was wondrous, ecstatic… I hate it when he's like this. Such a mind, beguiled by the vaguest hint of a miracle. He is better than that.

"They said a lot of things," she said with the same faint sense of amazement. "They said I could heal the sick, they came to kiss my hands and wash my feet… they told me all my pain was the pain of one truly pure who must suffer most in this world…"

Godric smiled reverently. I stood by the wall behind him, wanting to grab and shake him by the shoulders.

"…but I make no grand claims."

"How very humble of you," I could not help but mutter to myself. Godric ignored me.

"They see something in you," he said, "as do I. I also see you're cautious in accepting your new life, but that is natural. I offer you my protection. No one shall take advantage of you."

She nods blandly.

"Those brutes are not you family, not any more. You have a new home now. Eric likewise will protect you, won't he?" All of a sudden, Godric's eyes bored into me. There was a forcefulness there I had not seen in decades.

"I will let no one harm her," I said with deliberate ambiguity, after an awkward pause. It satisfied Godric, and that was enough. The girl was wary, and well she might have been.

"You really believe she saw an angel?" I asked as soon as we were alone – in our own tongue, lest she should overhear.

He chuckled, seemingly charmed by my accusation. "No, Eric. I am not so credulous."

"Is that so?" I replied before I could stop myself.

"I think that she believes she saw an angel," he said with a soft smile. "That's all."

-o-

Hiding in my study cannot last forever.

It has barely been a week. The sun has barely slunk away and Eleonora is still sleeping. We sit comfortably by the fire, staring at each other in a silence that would usually seem friendly. But Godric has something to say to me, I can see it in his faint frown.

"I will be departing tomorrow for a few days. I have some business I must attend to." Godric sees immediately I am not satisfied. "It does not concern you or Eleonora."

"Business? And what 'business' calls for you to be so cryptic?"

"I turn a blind eye to your black market dealings, Eric. Extend me the same benefit, that's all I ask."

"The last time I gave you the benefit, you created another vampire without telling me," I say without hiding my irritation.

It succeeds in making him pause. His eyes dart to the floor in humility. "I had thought we'd moved forward, Eric…"

"All I'm saying," I tell him in a strained voice, "is that it would be very _kind_ of you to inform me if you're about to do something else that will _affect_ me adversely."

Godric nods, looking guilty. "It will not, this time. I promise you that. It's only a hunch that I have. In any case, you will be alone with your sister for some while."

_Your sister_. It is the first time I have heard those words in the placid voice of him whom I had so revered, and they make me sick to the stomach.

-o-


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

It does not take much for us to come to blows. At first we do not speak, in fact we barely acknowledge the other's presence. The second day, on Godric's orders, I bring her some blood, but she does not come to hunt with me.

I go about my normal life, conducting business in the town in the evenings, then haunting the taverns or the forest for a meal or some excitement - not that there's much to be had. For her part she buries herself away in her cellar room, and when I see her I cannot glean much of her mood. She lets nothing on.

"What did Godric say to you?" she asks me abruptly on day four, interrupting me as I rest in the drawing-room, staring at the bare hearth from my armchair. I am bored lately. "Did he say why he left?"

I am a little surprised to hear her speak. "He has business to attend to. It doesn't concern you."

"Did he tell you, though?" Today she is not playing the vixen but rather the oblivious little girl.

I would lie, but then she would have me trapped. I don't even know when he'll return. I choose to ignore her. My eyes seem to lose focus as I continue to stare blankly at the fireplace. I was already in a black mood and she is trying my patience. I was never well-disposed to babysit.

"Eric?"

"Must you know everything?" I reply. From the corner of my eye, I see her façade almost slip. "Curiosity is a dangerous thing."

I have succeeded in confusing her at least. That might be the end of it. But then in her silly girlish mocking voice…

"Really, I don't know why you make such a fuss. Godric has enough love for the both of us."

Her presumption grates at my very bones.

"There's no need to resent me," she simpers.

I feel my lips pulling back into a snarl, and there is no point to restrain myself any more.

She gives a pathetic squeal as I clutch her throat. Nine days old – nine days, and so impudent! She has no more fight in her than a rag doll. Her eyes are huge and shining, the caricature of a child's. There is genuine shock there, the first sincere emotion she's let slip.

"You, you make me fucking _seethe_," I spit at her. My fangs are out and I could simply bite just there, at her milky-white neck. I could do it. "You make me… want to…"

Her mouth is contorted in naked fear. Perhaps, in the back of her mind, she wonders if I'm going to kill her.

I snort theatrically, and drop her to the floor. "You're pathetic. Get the _fuck_ out of my sight."

She struggles to get up from her knees as she scurries away.

"Oh, Eric." I whip round at his voice. "That is not how one gains respect."

Godric stands quietly in the shadows, looking more than a little unkempt. His shirt is torn in several places, and there are deep scratches on his arms only now stitching themselves back together. Even his pallid face seems more defeated than usual

"I thought I had given better instruction than that," he says. He looks genuinely disappointed in himself.

"You didn't stop me," I say, feeling humbled. I want to ask him where on Earth he's been, but I know it would be pointless. If he wanted me to know he would tell me.

"I was delayed. In any case, there is disgust in harming one's own blood, you would never ha-"

"She is no kin of mine," I interrupt. "Did you not see her, crawling in the dirt?"

He shakes his head sadly. "Eleonora is newly-made. Do you not remember your brashness, when I made you? Do you forget your tumult, how you lashed out in confusion like an infant?"

I remember, but it doesn't mellow me. "I was never a coward."

"Perhaps," replies Godric impassively.

My voice is getting louder, and in the back of my mind I wonder if she can hear me. "Never did I run from a threat, though it might exceed my power tenfold…"

"And so it was that when I came to you, you lay defeated on a pyre. Yes, I admit, I admired that in you. Though there is something to be said for caution, my child… but I did not return to lecture you."

"No? That makes a change."

He ignores my childish remark. I feel embarrassed to have made it. "I came to tell you, go to her."

I cock my head in confusion. "I'm sorry?"

"I said, go to her."

"To apologise, like a-"

"No. Only sit with her, and let her feed from you."

My lip wrinkles in distaste. "Why should I?"

"Because, Eric. There are ways to tempt her to your side. Intimidation is not one of them. Or if you prefer," he adds as I'm about to object, "because else I will command you."

He reaches to lay his hand on my arm. He knows he does not need to command me, but it is kind of him to threaten me with it.

"I will do as you say," I promise him grudgingly, "but only because you say it."

He smiles for the first time in our conversation. "Good. And be gentle with her… it will be for the best."

Irritably, I stride out into the corridor and down to the cellar. She would go to her bed for comfort. I am knowledgeable about fear.

"Eleonora?" I have not used her name yet. It's too fancy by half. It irks me that I can sense her presence, that I can feel her there in the corner. She doesn't try to hide her distress; perhaps she doesn't realise I can practically taste it. "You've seen what my anger brings," I say quietly as I approach. "I was furious. If you will drop your act for a short while, then we can talk."

She is on the floor, propped up by the wall, her arms around her knees. I crouch in front of her and she flinches. I realise I cut a threatening figure. I give in and sit by her.

"You must be hungry."

Still she makes no reply.

"Drink from me," I say, though it pains me. "Then you'll know my strength. It will dispel some of your fear."

"Hardly," she finally lets out, and her sarcasm does raise a smile on my face. She is not completely cowed.

"You're right," I concede. "It might even scare you more."

She has her head bowed and I cannot see her expression. We are both silent for a moment.

"I killed my first husband, you know," she says suddenly, with her face still hidden but so clearly that even the echo of her voice does not shake.

"What of it?" I ask, though I can't pretend I'm not intrigued.

"I… I could not bear him a child. Perhaps it was, I was too young." I hear her swallow. "He was in a rage – he was often in a rage – he came at me. For once I struggled… Somehow I strangled him. No one ever suspected it was me."

It is a strange thing indeed. "Why do you tell me this?"

I feel the hint of a smile in her voice. "Who else could I have told it to?"

She has a point. Perhaps she thinks she will fit in better in the company of murderers if she comes clean.

"I was betrothed at nine. He was just a boy too, and so pampered he never grew up, not all the time I knew him..."

"It's not uncommon," I say meaningfully, but she doesn't catch my tone.

"Yes, he would throw such a tantrum if he didn't get his way." She looks up finally, her eyes for once wide with honesty as she mumbles, "Sometimes I think I even loved him in some way." She drops her gaze again and is quiet.

"And your second husband?"

"Well. Godric took care of him." I can't tell whether she grieves him. "Godric commanded you to share your blood, didn't he?" she asks suddenly. I don't correct her, because her assumption is less embarrassing. "He wanted us to bond."

"Of course he wants us to bond."

"You and he have something I've never seen before."

I pause. It is hard to know what to reveal. "Nearly five hundred years, I have walked with him."

"Five hundred," is echoed in a disbelieving murmur. "…Did you ever think to leave?"

That is not the question I expected. I answer nonetheless. "I have left, once or twice."

"But you returned. You… have quite some love for each other, I can see that."

I shrug. She still doesn't understand. I've seen love, even pursued it now and then. Love is cowardly, love is transient. It wavers in its strength. Godric is our Maker, and that is eternal.

I get up off the floor, stretching my legs. She stays hunched in the corner.

"You have nothing to fear from me, you know."

"Intellectually… I know you wouldn't really hurt me," she says, it seems with sincerity. Her eyes fix on me, almost challenging. "If I were just another vampire, you might. But Godric chose me. You respect him. It's simple."

She thinks she knows everything. At least she isn't looking insufferably smug the way she used to. "True, I respect him. But that's not what I meant."

"Oh?" she asks cautiously.

"There are limited ways to dispose of a vampire, all rather messy." My lips twitch helplessly into a smile. "Much like you, I prefer a clean kill."

As I leave, I can sense her bizarre feeling of reassurance from our shared iniquities.

-o-

Godric is waiting for me.

"Still here?" I ask, quietly thankful. Without him around I feel almost trapped.

"How did it go with her?"

I don't feel like answering him. Instead I merely snort in disdain.

"Eric."

I can't stand it any more. "You are too intelligent for this. She was feverish, she was dying. Of course she came up with some nonsense to comfort herself…"

"You focus too much on that detail. She is much more, far more than a sickly little girl. Before she became ill she was the authority behind her husband, she practically controlled the whole province. Even as an invalid she exerted her power over them, whether consciously or not. There is a fire in her, as there is in you… that which is only seen in those who have suffered greatly."

"A thirst? She manipulates to survive, and that's why we shouldn't trust her." My words don't have the same vitriol as before, and I think he takes note of it.

"Why do you criticise her for taking control? What would you have done?"

I would have played whoever I could to make sure I came out on top. But he knows that already. That's what he wants me to say.

"Godric," I reply in my smoothest, most caring voice, "I am simply concerned." I move closer, almost right up against him.

He gazes up at me with such intensity I want to look away. "I know, my child. And I know that I have not been honest with you. For that I am truly sorry."

He doesn't have to ask my forgiveness. I tilt his chin up and kiss him passionately. We have not even embraced for over a week, and my body yearns for him.

"I only want to understand you," I let out accidentally, my lips still inches from his.

"I think it's her you need to understand," he says, even as he kisses me again, pressing his small chest into mine. I almost expect to hear a cough and see Eleonora watching us – it seems now she will always be just over his shoulder.

-o-


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Godric was here, wasn't he?" Nora asks me tentatively. Some days we don't ignore each other any more. Her slight trepidation towards me and her necessary gratitude for the bottled blood I bring have calmed my ire. Now she is more of a simple irritation. "I heard you speak to him… that time."

That time was almost a week ago. I brush aside the burgeoning pang of worry. "He left again."

"I know."

We continue in silence, her painstakingly copying out the passage in Greek (Godric hinted heavily that I should instruct her) while I take a delicious drag of my pipe and relax after a long night of pursuit. There was a maiden today, a pretty young thing, and how glad she was to meet a handsome stranger! Some would say it's cruel to toy with them first, but it's a coward who stabs from behind.

"You have this look all the time now. Did you argue with him?" She is bolder now, and it's no longer just a boldness to continually hide behind. Perhaps that is the real reason we can almost get along. "I felt something… stirring."

"He has his moods," I reply.

"I know," she says. "But you're allowed to be angry."

I don't appreciate her trying to give me permission. "Have you finished yet?" I ask abruptly.

"No."

"Then get on with it." I stand and stretch my arms above my head with an exaggerated sigh. "It's been a long night. I'm going to ground."

For the moment, she gives in.

-o-

"I know you're there, Nora." I don't know when I stopped using her full name. I heard Godric call her Nora once and at the time it seemed incongruous with her haughtiness and insincerity. "I'll always know you're there." By now I'm almost resigned to it.

Sheepishly she reveals herself, lifting her skirts up from the ferny undergrowth as if they were not already grubby.

"You are not in your manor house now," I remark, but she doesn't reply, only wrinkles her face in faint disgust at the body by my feet. I have drained it almost dry. I throw her the flask of blood I collected and she catches it automatically in one hand without removing her gaze from the man.

"A monk?" she says eventually, fixing me with huge shining eyes. But she does not really seem surprised.

"A meal."

She continues with a sad sort of smile. "To murder those who devote themselves to a being of light," she murmurs, "those who would consider you anathema-"

"If you want to discuss philosophy, you should do it with Godric," I interrupt. "All I care is, I have to feed. If there's a God, he made me this way." I did care once, for only slaughtering the low and the despicable. But standards fall away with the kind of craving we experience, and even Godric's rationalisations can never disguise the fact. "It is our nature."

It makes me uncomfortable, the way she examines me warily. "You're right," she says. "Our bond with Godric is a powerful thing. But in the end you must remember, he is just the same as you and me. He is not…"

She doesn't need to say it, for I've heard the same sentiment before in a hundred different guises. _He is not God_.

"And so what?" She looks at me as if I'm stupid. "Are you going to help me?" I ask gruffly, gesturing at the shallow hole I have begun to scrape in the cold ground. She seems genuinely perplexed. "In this family we clean up after ourselves," I tell her.

Finally, Nora nods. "It's better to disguise our presence, Godric says." She still makes no move to help me.

I shrug. "We could leave them to the wolves. There would still be no corpse to find. But ritual is a favourite crutch of his." I did not really mean to say that.

"And you…?"

"Habit," I claim.

She keeps eyeing me in disbelief as I finish digging. She speaks softly as if coming to a revelation. "There's something human in you still."

"I wouldn't go that far," I reply, kicking the shrivelled body into its sloppy resting place.

-o-

The next night Nora is agitated. She bathes far too often I've noticed, combs her hair and powders and plucks with supreme care. Well I too attend to my appearance, but not to such a point of obsession. She still seeks to feel as though her life has not changed, as if she's still just a vain little heiress.

This evening is no exception. As I'm lighting the candles on my desk, I see her white, doll-like face peer round the doorway, in a manner that reminds me painfully of Godric.

"Brother?" It still rings strange to me, but I jerk my head slightly in acknowledgement as I set down the tinderbox. "Can I ask you something?"

"If you really must." I slouch down in my chair, resting my boots casually on the desk.

She is more self-assured again now, hands on hips and eyes bright as if she would stare me down. "Do you still think I'm out to trick you?" I don't reply instantly, and she adds, "Or Godric?"

I grin, though it is half a grimace. She is persistent, this one. "You know full well, I never thought you capable of that."

"You still don't believe my story. Of what I saw. I heard you warn him."

Perhaps her label of my 'sister' is more appropriate than I'd thought, because she needles and pries like one. But she still has a long way to go if she wants to learn all of _my _secrets.

"No, I don't. He doubts you too, but he does believe in your magical God. I would take what you can get, little one."

"God?" She looks as though she might spit in contempt. "I don't care for his version of God, nor any man's."

This is interesting. I take my feet down and sit up properly. "Oh?"

"Our Lord, Our Father. They have warped our creator into a… tool for subjugation. To keep their women in line."

I decide to prod her. "You can't really despise them for being deceitful? Not after-" I don't get to complete my thoughts, because she is now more than disgruntled, barely holding back her anger.

"You think you understand me so well, don't you? But you couldn't. All my life I've been passed from man to man like chattel. Yes, you're right, I con them. I feign interest. I lie and cheat and dupe. It's that or bow down and submit. If a glowing angel talks to you, they might make you a saint, but a blood-soaked girl in the shadows… they'll call you Satan's whore… or if you're lucky lock you in the madhouse-"

She stops suddenly as if she's said too much. I wonder if she really saw that girl. She speaks more softly now, her venom abating. A sense of resignation creeps into her bearing.

"Did you think that I wanted to be here? Even in death, Fate sends another man to rule over me. There is no freedom to be had here, none at all."

I look to her sharply. To me it is an alien opinion.

"You disagree?" she asks. It seems she's aiming to provoke.

"Godric is no gaoler, nor is he like unto your jealous God. I am free to leave him should I wish. I have done so in the past. But I have also seen what solitude does to a man. That is not the sort of freedom I want any of."

She looks too much intrigued by my comments – I change the subject rapidly.

"In any case," I tell her with barely hidden smugness, standing to lean casually on the mantelpiece behind, "you saw with what ease I subdued you. There is worse out there than me. Having one such as Godric as your Maker, it affords a protection you will not find elsewhere."

She does not look impressed. "How old is he, exactly?"

"Neither of us can recall, exactly. Perhaps one thousand years older than me."

"But a thousand years! What does one do for a thousand years…?"

I don't respond, because I know what it was that he did. His Maker met his demise not so long after Godric was turned. Then Godric roamed the Earth alone, for how long he has never quite told me. I suspect he does not know himself, that after a time the decades blurred together. He searched through the murk and the filth, braved even the threat of the midnight sun for one who might relieve his solitude – and there I was, grieving still but strong in spirit. I gave him the loyalty and gaiety he craved. I kept him sane throughout the centuries.

And in return, he made a second child of this ungrateful whelp.

But by now I know I am too harsh. Although I wish to despise her, I see it was not her choice. Godric is not above needing reassurance for his fantasies, and I was not forthcoming. Though it seems now she might well not be either.

"Don't you get bored?" she asks me. Her childlike eyes seem slightly pained. Perhaps she fears more for her fate than she has revealed. "And to be bonded all that time," she mutters to herself.

I cannot help but smirk. "I find ways to… amuse myself. And you will too. Eternity awaits. Indulge your desires as you please."

She does not respond immediately, but there is something in her look… and I can sense what is in her mind, she is not skilled enough to try to block me out. Well, and why shouldn't Godric share his toys? I would be blind not to notice her figure and her youth. There is also that tension, the underlying thrill that we both wish to deceive the other, and we both know the best mask for deceit is to foster affection, by fair means or foul. It is somehow inevitable.

"I might take you up on your offer," she says slowly. She leans over with both hands on my desk, and it's a pleasant view.

"My offer?"

I sense her natural caution even wrapped up in the usual bravado. "Let me taste you," she says. "I want to know…"

I want to know too. For all Nora rails about men, she is at heart a hedonist, and that is something Godric will never understand. He has to have pleasure dragged out of him, but here is somebody who simply _wants_, and will let herself succumb.

In an instant I have her helpless up against the wall.

She is nervous again, but this time I am more careful with her. "And what do you offer in return?" I ask with a smile, looking her up and down before bowing my head so she may bite. I whisper to her as she hesitates, "I'll take your lead…"

I feel her lips against my neck before the bite. She is tentative and surprisingly careful. Her leg slides around mine; I grip at her thigh, to pull her closer and press my hips up against her. Her fangs feel small and delicate, like two pinpricks – in fact she is small and delicate all over. I would simply throw her on the floor and have my way… but perhaps when she is less intimidated by me.

She makes a tiny noise of satisfaction, and I stroke her soft hair as she sucks at my neck. She is not a bad plaything. If I had a pulse it would be throbbing. When she lifts her head, her pupils are blown wide – perhaps I let her drink too deeply.

Our gazes are locked. "How do I taste?" I ask. My hand slides up and down her thigh, the other pressed firmly against her back.

"Ohh… like depravity," she replies with a dazed smile, and I cannot help but kiss her forcefully.

I find myself staggering backwards, hiking up her skirt as I bump against the desk. It's easy to pull her on top of me, she weighs nothing – and her deft hands easily pull away my clothing.

I let her have control; that's what she's after. I let her take her pleasure. She is gripping me and gasping as we rock back and forth - there is such delicious urgency to her. I bite her and she makes the sweetest tiny noise of shock…

When it's over – and it is over quickly – it's not clear what to do. Nora's cleavage is still pressed up in my face, her hands still in my hair, her thighs still gripping tight. I clasp her to me out of instinct as she relaxes in my arms - suddenly she seems incredibly frail.

"That… that was new," she murmurs into my hair.

"My blood?"

"No. Being on top," she says without embarrassment.

We separate ourselves – she hops gracelessly off my lap, and starts brushing her skirt back down as if there were others who might see her. She doesn't speak. I stay seated on my desk, proudly dishevelled in a daze of satisfaction.

Nora glances at me, and I cannot read her expression.

"What is it?"

"The cruellest, the very cruellest thing," she murmurs. "To become fond of those… who see you as nothi-" Her voice cracks. Her eyes are brimming with blood. "I… shit, Eric, I can't see!"

She is genuinely disorientated. I feel her words sink in as my heart betrays me, and is moved by pity for this wretched young girl who has been terrorized and exploited. She has no idea what's happening.

I tug my clothes back into place and get up to hold her. I take her face in my hand and gently kiss her cheeks, mouthing at the thin dribbles of blood. She tastes a lot like that maiden this morning. I wonder sometimes, if fear tinges the blood.

"Hush," I tell her. "It's normal. We don't weep human tears. You are more than human now."

She wipes her eyes with my shirt. I know better than to complain. I have started to feel self-conscious now that the haze of lust has waned and I still have my arms around her.

"Have you felt the power that you have over them?" I ask her suddenly. "Have you felt it yet?"

"You mean, have I… done what Godric does, entrance them to feel no pain?"

I grin. "I mean, have you drunk from a human without tranquilising them?"

"No," she says reluctantly.

"Well then. Do you know what is the best part of being a vampire?"

"…the sex?" she replies, momentarily flirtatious again though her eyes are still stained with scarlet.

I chuckle at that. Despite myself I find her entertaining sometimes. "No. The revenge. You will never have to feel powerless again."

She does not need any more convincing.

-o-


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

I pick someone out for her, a drunkard with a dry, knotted beard and a slobbering mouth. I think he'll be an easy first kill. But Nora has other ideas.

"This place," she says, "it's too much". I suppose for her it would be. There are rougher alehouses around; still the crudeness of the clientele seems almost to have seeped into the corners. The numerous low lanterns give the room a strangely stark and colourless air. "I don't fit in here at all."

She's right about that. In the end, by some dim alleyway, we find a pouting youth with long dark eyelashes, malnourished but handsome. One whose face lights up at Nora's teasing glances. He seems confident, and as she leads the boy out beyond the city walls he doesn't resist. I lurk behind them at some distance.

The moon is bright and I conceal myself even as the forest becomes thicker and the two of them little more than shadows. I don't hear what they whisper to each other as he backs her into a tree, or as she slides her hands around his hips – but I feel her satisfaction along with his pained shriek when she finally bites down.

She is careless, and as he stumbles to the floor, neck gouged open, she doesn't put much effort into keeping him down there. She just pushes him around playfully. He gurgles and swears at her and Nora laughs, even as he succeeds in clambering to his feet and fleeing back towards the faint glow of the town.

"Run then!" she shouts after him, stepping out into the moonlight. There is blood all over her neck and chin, and her eyes are bright with excitement. "Tell them you ran from me! That you screamed and surrendered! Tell them!"

Her eyes gradually grow calm, and the excitement fades away from her features. Her voice is painfully sweet now in its softness.

"And that I let you go."

The figure has long since retreated into the blackness. I finally approach.

"That was foolish of you," I say. "To leave a loose end." It is unwise to let him run off, but I don't have much motivation to go and catch him. Probably he won't get far in any case, not with that chunk of his neck missing.

"Well, perhaps now he'll have a little more respect for the girls he meets on dark corners." She is completely unruffled, which surprises me a little. I want to lick his blood from her skin. "You should have heard the things he said to me," she continues. "No way to talk to a lady."

"Really."

"Utterly filthy."

"Oh?"

She places her palm over my chest, sliding it downwards with a smug smile. "Why, brother, you seem to find that _exciting_." She is a tease but I don't mind it any more. We have better things to do than talk.

Nora groans as I fuck her roughly against the damp earth of the forest, my mouth finally at her neck, her blood mingling with the boy's on my tongue. "Oh, oh, my sister…" I mutter in her ear, even as she trembles and shudders beneath me. Perhaps I would add a caustic remark but by now my wit is overwhelmed, the sense of her trilling through my lifeless veins.

-o-

When he finally returns, just as the light of dawn threatens to creep in through the shutters, in my sleep-deprived agitation I think I'm seeing a ghost. Every last drop of colour seems to have drained from his face.

"Godric." But before I can even utter his name I feel every muscle in my body tighten with shock. There is blood dripping across his neck, down his arm, from his fingertips, and his eyes are listless.

"I just need to rest," he mumbles but he is almost swaying on his feet. If Godric is weary then there is something very wrong. Before he can say another word I have swooped him up into my arms. I feel his whole body slacken against my chest

Nora watches us, seemingly stunned. "Get some cushions," I bark at her and she obeys instantly.

I place Godric down on the worn mattress in the cellar and bite at my forearm to feed him. He feebly protests that it's not necessary, but still he drinks from me as I hold him carefully with my other arm. Nora stands behind us, unmoving. I can sense she feels embarrassed to see him like this – or perhaps to see me tending to him like a parent to a sickly infant.

"Bring them here," I tell her. She sets the cushions behind Godric's head and back, and surprises even me by kneeling to kiss his forehead as his eyes finally flutter closed. Perhaps they bonded more than I thought when I was sulking by myself.

"I'm tired," she says to me awkwardly. "I'll let you have some time alone."

"Wait," I find myself saying. She should not be denied staying with him. "We are all tired. Come bring your bed here." I caress Godric's dozing face – he is safe, and my heart is singing with relief. Sometimes I lose my priorities in pettiness.

She falls asleep quickly after all, while I stay awake to watch him. I stroke my fingers over the ink around his neck, over the soft, bloodied skin that seems so fragile.

He is safe.

-o-

Eventually I wake, my body curled protectively around Godric's. Nora has left the room already and Godric is asleep in my arms. I don't remember lying down. I only remember the calmness I had felt at his return, the surety of his presence that soothes my soul. I have my master back, my brother, my… but I don't know how to think of him now. Anything he is to me, he must be to Eleonora also.

I get up suddenly. He still doesn't wake. It must be past midnight by now. But I leave him to doze.

When I get upstairs I see Nora is half-heartedly sweeping the drawing-room floor. She looks up instantly as I enter.

"How is he?" she asks cautiously, twisting the broom back and forth awkwardly in one hand. I had hardly suspected it of her, that she should be so concerned for him.

"Sleeping," is all I reply. I flop heavily in the armchair. She continues sweeping, her eyes downcast.

The scraping noise of the broom pauses for a moment. Her voice is unsure. "I prayed for him, you know."

"Oh. Who do you pray to?"

I hear her swallow. "I don't know."

After that she is silent again. Eventually she finishes and leaves me alone without another word.

-o-

The next night Godric is not at his best, but he is up and this time I have company as I sit by the fire. It seems he not only lost a substantial amount of blood but was also exposed to the sun for some seconds as he escaped back to us.

"It's good that you and Eleonora are finally getting along," he says to me with a knowing look.

"Well. At least I can talk to her without wanting to scream."

"Talk to her. Yes…"

I feign innocence, but it's pointless.

"I can feel you, you know. Your lust. Your satisfaction."

I always find it strange that his grasp of me is so acute. I only have the vaguest sense of his emotions, and oftentimes they are foreign to me. Perhaps it is a case of what he allows himself to feel.

"Don't misunderstand me," he says. "I am glad."

"Was that your enterprise? To leave so we might either make up or kill one another?"

Suddenly he becomes serious. "No. Sadly there was another issue at hand. As I had suspected, there is a pack."

"A pack?" A chill comes over me. "Werewolves? That's what injured you?"

Godric shakes his head and exhales in vexation. "These are not ordinary wolves. There's something different about them. They are stronger, faster, more primally stupid."

"Do you think-"

"I don't think anything, Eric, I merely tell you what I've learnt. They are brutal, certainly, and we should depart as soon as possible."

"Are you serious? It could be them. It could be my chance!" I rise, knocking the chair back several inches. An uneasy anticipation is swelling up inside me.

"And we are not prepared in the slightest."

"And you told me nothing!" I say, more to myself than him.

"You would have rushed in like a fool."

He is beginning to piss me off. "But-"

"The brave man knows how to fight. The wise man knows when not to."

"Well _we_ are not men. Do you have no curiosity?"

I become aware of Nora's presence before the words have left my lips. Presumably she doesn't know what we're talking about; nonetheless she coughs unsubtly to interrupt our terse discussion.

"Ah, it's good to see you," says Godric, finally standing to greet her. She is strangely shy around him now. I think after all I have told her she fears to disappoint him. "Nora – both of you – it is time to move on. It is no longer safe here. We head eastwards. I have connections." His glance at me is brief but intense. "And if we can muster backup, we will return to fight, my child. I promise you that."

I am inundated with a sense of relief – not just for his gesture but for the way he looked at me. It is not an promise made out of penitence but one of pure affection.

"Thank you," I reply softly.

Nora is shifting her gaze between us uncomfortably. "I would like to go and live by myself for a time."

The air appears to turn to ice as Godric's eyes visibly widen.

"Let me explain," she adds in haste. "Much though everyone seems to think otherwise, I can take care of myself. You've both shown me how to hunt, and I'm not so stupid as to get myself hurt."

"Nora, don't be ridiculous," I mutter. I glance at Godric, who is still silent.

"Oh come on. It's not for you to say." Still it's me she looks straight in the eye rather than Godric, and she makes no effort to hide her feelings any more. "You saw me… I've told you enough, haven't I? About my life. The life I can't have now. I had carved out my own existence, mundane and purposeless though it might have been-"

"I won't stop you," interjects Godric suddenly. "I know you have your reasons. But you cannot stay in this part of the world."

"Werewolves. Yes. I heard – and I wouldn't have believed it, but… my life has taken a turn for the strange."

I feel a sting of indignation that she was eavesdropping on us, but Godric interrupts my thoughts.

"Very well then. But you should know you are always able to return, and we shall welcome you."

She nods sincerely, and to my surprise leans forwards to draw Godric up into an affectionate hug. Her eyes are closed as she holds him, but there is relief and trepidation emanating from her so strongly that I'm surprised Godric even lets go of her.

"Godric, what are you doing?" I mutter to him in our language as soon as we are alone again. I wonder if she's trying to listen again.

"Not all children are as… attached to their Makers as you, Eric. It is natural, she is young."

"Too young! Barely two weeks."

Godric raises an eyebrow in a way that borders on comical. "She's right, she is in control of herself. Keeping her prisoner will not endear us to her. Nor encourage her to continue her relationship with you."

"It's not a relationship," I feel obliged to say. "It's sex."

He doesn't react to that. I don't know if I want him to. We are fucked up sometimes. "She wants to be free, so let her," he says. "She wants to find meaning, I cannot begrudge her that. I'll feel if she's in danger. I can fly to her faster than humans can pause to take breath." He reaches a hand up to cup my cheek, and speaks to me very gently. "Don't fret, she will be cared for."

I want to argue that that's not my point, but it's at this moment I realise I have no case for that at all.

-o-


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_Moscow, 1559_

The winter is finally upon us. As twilight settles upon the cluttered roofs, the heavy snowfall transforms the putrid streets into avenues of pristine white that twinkle in the glow of the lamps. It is fitting – this has always been a city that sweeps its foibles beneath an veil of calm respectability.

Between the dim figures of serfs trampling to and fro in their thick cloaks and boots, from the corner of my eye I catch a flash of pale skin. I would not think much of it but for the feeling that rises in my stomach, the sense of my sister approaching.

And indeed as I stare at that spot where I thought I had seen something, Godric beside me seems to become suddenly alert, as though his ears had pricked up.

"You found us again," he says, uncharacteristically proud, as Nora finally emerges from the shadows.

"People talk," she says. "You make an odd-looking couple."

Nora's attire is far more commonplace these days. Her hair is cut shorter, and she seems somehow more masculine. The lines of her face are stronger, her brows more resolute.

"But you like to move around," she adds.

"He does," I reply. "I don't really care where we stay." But Godric is running out of places that hold no memories for him. He had hinted to me once that we try the New World, but I had dismissed it. "You don't stay in one place much yourself."

Nora gives me a look that's a little defensive. She turns to Godric.

"I missed you both, you know." She clasps his hands together in hers. "There are so many things to see in this world… I never knew how ignorant I was. I don't know if I have ever thanked you, for what you did for me."

He simply nods in acceptance. She seems genuinely thankful. I am glad when she changes her tone and suggests it's time for us to eat.

It is the perfect night to run and hunt around the city, to prey on whomever we choose, and by the end even Godric is swept up in her levity.

-o-

Godric rests his head on my chest. Tonight he makes little attempt to hide his feelings. The sense of loss and dismay is all about him. I enjoy her company, but I don't miss her the way he does when she retreats again. I calmly stroke his hair, and he shifts into my touch.

When he presses more confidently against me, and stretches himself up to kiss me, I can feel the weight in his body, in every limb and every breath. The heaviness that drags him downwards. Maybe it's not only about her, but that's not for me to know. I smother his pale, eager face with kisses - he looks so young and lost sometimes, too young for all he must have seen.

I am gentle with him as I am with no one else. My hands massage his skin, holding him carefully in place. I restrain myself from kissing or sucking too hard, as though he were breakable as soft clay. I don't even attempt to bite him.

His faint smile finally reaches his eyes. Both the tension and the weight in him seem to melt away. His relief is flooding all through my body as he loosens around me.

"Thank you," is all he whispers to me as we fall asleep together, in each other's arms for the hundred thousandth time (but he needs me like the first).

It makes me feel guilty that I have ever left him.

-o-

_Lviv, 1616_

I have never seen Nora irritated with Godric before. It's a reversal I'm not prepared for, to be the man in the middle.

"Does he ever preach to you?" she asks me, sulking on the divan with her arms crossed.

"He gave up about a week after he made me," I say truthfully. Godric didn't turn me to have someone to agree with.

She gives a weak snort of laughter. "You know, he treats me like a child sometimes."

"You are his Child. He may be going about it badly, but he's trying to help you."

"That's what makes it worse." She throws herself back against the cushions in frustration. "I shouldn't have told him. Lately I've been… searching for something. But he is so sure of himself, so maddeningly sure, he thinks me an idiot-"

"What is it you're searching for?" I interrupt.

"What do you care?"

"I get bored sometimes," I admit. Not to mention the trail for Russell dried up decades ago. "Nothing motivates me."

"You'll say it's silly of me."

"What if I promise I won't?"

She seems to struggle in working out what a promise from my lips is worth. "I want to find her," she tells me eventually. "The woman that came to me. The 'angel' that I saw."

"The woman that you dreamt, you mean." It is indeed silly of her, but at least it doesn't sound dangerous. Despite myself, it is my duty to be protective of her.

"I was not asleep," she says, annoyed. "And from what I've heard, others have seen her too."

"Really," I reply flatly.

"I know you don't think much of it. I felt something though, in that moment. Something like wonder, but softer, more…" She sees my expression. "Perhaps you won't understand."

"Perhaps I won't," I say, and that's the last we speak of it.

She is leaving again, of course. She leaves as soon as she's made her uneasy peace with Godric. She even asks me if I want to come with her. But one of us must be responsible, rather than chasing after angels and spirits and thin air.

-o-

_Paris, 1630_

Strangely, I think it's me she comes to see. Or at least it's me she's always keen to fuck, and who am I to complain. With Nora there's no complication. I do not worry for her, I do not ask nor care much where she goes for months or years on end.

And when we curl up together afterwards, and she tells me of her faith, I do not have that painful urge to save her from herself.

"You know whose forgiveness my husband sought? Not that of the one he had wronged, of his little wife he suffered not to teach him mercy. How could she forgive him, that creature who was below him, whom God had commanded him to train like a beast…"

I make a noise of assent. If she has such resentment for religion, I don't know why she clings to it so.

"When I am in charge…" She sighs.

"It's odd," I say almost to myself. "I used to think you only wanted comfort and validation. But you've turned out to be quite the power-thirsty bitch."

"Why thank you," she says with a smile.

I smirk back at her. "It kind of turns me on."

Before I can blink she is on top of me, sucking fervently at my neck, twining herself around me. I savour in it for a moment.

"Shh shh shh," I tell her reluctantly, gently pulling her head up. "You'll overdose."

"Since I became…" She trails off. Her face is so close to mine, her eyes bulging with lust and blood smeared over her lips. "All I do is _want_." I feel her nose brush my cheek as she murmurs.

I know what she is saying. These days I understand the humans who always seek to be drunk off their feet, or weak with laudanum, those who kill themselves slowly for the sake of anaesthesia. That kind of desire can blot out all else, at least for a time. If I had ever felt too much distress from love as a human it is nothing to what pains me now I have known something more than love. My refuge is in want – and that means in her.

"You should go your own way," I find myself whispering to her. "Or you will end up like him, far too solemn and guilty for his own good."

She smiles, her tongue peeking out between her lips. "Not the reason I thought you would give. Once upon a time, you would have done anything to get rid of me."

"Well." I stroke my hand down from her breast, over the smooth curve of her hip. It's not in tenderness – we are not tender with each other. Her body is sublime and worthy of exploring. "I reconsidered."

I start to kiss my way down her chest. I lap my tongue into her navel and she giggles.

She doesn't ask me why I do not leave, whether I fear becoming shut-off and joyless. Perhaps, in the end, she has come to understand.

-o-

_Brittany, 1638_

Nora calmly puts her hand on Godric's shoulder. "You must know by now I cannot stay."

"You never stay for long, we are accustomed-"

"That is not what I meant. You know I cannot stay at all. My future lies elsewhere."

Godric purses his lips. "I feared that would be the case."

I can sense Godric's hesitation, for he does not try to hide it. Does he have it in him? It would seem my world stands still in a strange tableau: Godric stares at the ground as if that were where his God resides, Nora's arm hanging awkwardly from his shoulder, her eyes so imploring after years of restraint. I have shown her what it is to let go without guilt.

The words come, eventually, in an even, accepting tone. "Eleonora. As your Maker… I release you."

Nora closes her eyes, exhales, and seems at peace.

"Thank you. A new name, a new country for me perhaps, but I shall not forget my family." She drops her arms and glances at me meaningfully. "It was not an angel I saw. But she was beautiful. And one day – I feel it, truly – I will see her again. She will come for us, for you and me and all our kind…" She looks to Godric with something like pity. "You are no human, you do not have to bow to their God."

"There is only one God, Nora." Godric replies, but I can see her defiance troubles him. "There may be many ways of knowing His love."

"_Bullshit,_" I want to interject. But I can't, because Godric is here. "_They have constructed their God out of half-remembered fables, because they are afraid. And what are they afraid of? Such things that prey on them, that lurk in the night… in a word, us. What are you so afraid of, Nora?_" That is what I want to say. But she is gone now, in search of a fantasy.

I have put all my faith in Godric, and I am not afraid.

-o-

The End

-o-

p.s. Thanks for reading guys, if you enjoyed this please check out my other stories. Happy ficcing!


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